


the sharp knife of a short life

by atetheredmind (s_e_irvine)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_e_irvine/pseuds/atetheredmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Katniss’ mother dies, she finds an unlikely friend in the baker’s son. A look at Katniss’ life in D12 had her father lived. AU. Written for Prompts in Panem Day 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sharp knife of a short life

**Author's Note:**

> The Day 1 prompt for this story was a canon item/Haymitch's liquor.

Katniss was 4 when her mother died. Prim's birth had been long and hard, and Mrs. Everdeen had hemorrhaged profusely once the baby had been ripped from her womb; without proper medical care, Mrs. Everdeen bled out shortly after little Prim had been placed on her chest to soothe her crying.

Their father was left with two daughters to raise, one a newborn, the other a sprightly preschooler. Mr. Everdeen was given a month off from the mines to mourn and get his home life in order; he only took a week, as they couldn't afford to go any longer than that without his pay. Luckily, he was able to enlist the help of Hazelle Hawthorne in looking after Prim and Katniss when he couldn't; the wife of his mining and hunting buddy, Zeke Hawthorne, she had a newborn of her own, Rory. She had an older son, Gale, too, who Katniss became well acquainted with, but he was two years older than her and not really interested in befriending a girl.

Being so young, Katniss didn't quite grasp the concept of death. She didn't cry when her mother died because she didn't fully understand, and she suddenly had a little sister to focus on. But Prim couldn't do anything but sleep and eat. She couldn't braid Katniss' hair, and she couldn't gather plants and herbs with her in the meadow, and she couldn't turn the art of tying her shoes into a game. It was in those moments when Katniss missed her mother.

She missed her father, too. Bearing the sole burden of taking care of his family while trying to work in the mines took up all of his time. He didn't sing to her anymore, and he couldn't sit down and show her how to make bows and arrows, but he still let her tag along on his Sunday hunting trips. Those were really the only days she saw him. But even those trips were cut short because he had to get back to Prim.

She really tried not to resent Prim too much, but as she saw it, she'd essentially lost two parents when she gained a sister.

* * *

Katniss sat at a table in the cafeteria by herself, unpacking her paltry lunch of an apple and cubed squirrel meat. It was the first day of kindergarten; she didn't normally have trouble making friends in the Seam, but she was nervous around the Merchants. She didn't know how to approach anybody outside of the comfort of her neighborhood.

So she was surprised when a curly blonde-haired boy sat down next to her, his ruddy cheeks dimpled by a shy smile. She just stared at him mutely until he spoke, "Hi, I'm Peeta." His expression sobered. "Um, I'm sorry about your mom," he mumbled, digging through his own lunch bag to produce a cookie. When she didn't move, he placed it in her hand.

Katniss blinked at it, then at him. It had been nearly a year since her mother passed. "What's this for?" she asked, confused. Peeta shrugged.

"I don't know. My daddy said it's customary to give food when people die."

"That happened awhile ago."

He flushed. "I know."

She frowned. "How do you know me?"

Somehow, his red cheeks blossomed even more with color. "Um, my mom and dad knew your mom. They talked about it when...well, anyway, Daddy pointed you out to me this morning. I thought you might like a cookie."

"Oh." Katniss eyed the treat in her hand. It smelled like peanut butter. Her stomach grumbled, and she blushed slightly. "Thank you." She carefully unwrapped it from its cellophane and took a large bite. "It's good," she said around her mouthful. Peeta beamed.

"I helped make them. Well, Daddy let me crack the eggs, at least."

Katniss smiled slightly and glanced at her own lunch. "Um, would you like some squirrel?" she asked, offering him a piece. His eyes widened as he took it.

"I've never had squirrel before," he said in awe, then he popped it into his mouth. She didn't think it was possible, but his round, blue eyes got even larger as he chewed. "It's really good!" She smiled at the compliment, feeling a rush of affection for her father. "How did you get squirrel?"

Her brow furrowed, and she glanced around warily. Her father had stressed to her the confidential nature of their hunting trips. He traded around town, but he'd still told her to be careful about who she told, as hunting was technically illegal. "Um, I don't think I can say..." she trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip.

Peeta's expression was the picture of innocence, and he leaned toward her. "I won't tell anyone. I promise. I'm good at keeping secrets. My brother Rye broke the lamp in our living room, and I never told anyone—well," he flushed, embarrassed. "Until now. But I swear I won't tell!"

She considered him carefully as she thought. He seemed nice enough. And he  _had_  given her a cookie. "Okay, I guess I can tell you. My daddy," her voice dropped to a low whisper, "he has a bow, and he takes me into the woods to hunt."

Peeta's eyes were full of wonder. "Wow. You've been in the woods?" She nodded, and he sighed wistfully. "That must be fun." She nodded again, and he leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially, "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Katniss grinned and took another bite of her cookie. She could tell she and Peeta were going to be good friends.

* * *

She had been right. She made other friends in school over the years, but Peeta remained her closest. He got teased a lot for befriending a Seam girl, and other Merchant kids sneered at her for encroaching on their territory, but she found she really didn't care what they thought. A nasty glare and a threatening fist were usually enough to shut them up; if not, she didn't hesitate to make good on that threat. She got in trouble a lot at school. Her father was always upset and exasperated when she got sent home with a disciplinary note, which only fueled her resentment toward him. She hated that he only took notice of her was when she was getting into trouble.

But she found herself acting out more just so that he'd be forced to acknowledge her.

Peeta expressed concern, too, though he didn't lecture her, at least. "I'm not going to let anybody insult me  _or_  you," she'd snapped at him after he'd stopped her from shoving a Merchant boy in the school hallway, but at his pleading look, she'd dropped it.

He helped level her out, and in turn, she helped loosen him up. His mother didn't approve of their friendship, a disapproval that resulted in bruised cheeks and swollen lips. Katniss often snuck him out of his house to the meadow just to escape her abuse, hugging him tightly while she fantasized about all the black eyes she'd love to give Mrs. Mellark herself. But as children, and then later, even as adolescents, they were powerless against her.

"We could run away, you know," she'd told him once when they were 12, wrapped around his side as they huddled in the meadow after another one of his mother's vicious assaults. It was nighttime. Peeta looked over at her, his eyes glistening in the moonlight as he fought tears. "We could. Into the woods. There's a cabin and a lake a couple hours away. My dad showed it to me once. We could live there, and no one would know." It had been years since he showed her, so the location was murky, but she was confident she could track it down.

He looked hopeful at her words, but then his face fell, and he shook his head slowly. "We can't. It's illegal. They'd find us and punish us."

"No, they wouldn't," she argued, annoyed he'd already discounted her idea. She'd interacted with the Peacekeepers many times; they had no qualms breaking the rules. What would they care about a couple of kids taking off? "I do illegal things all the time. No one cares."

Peeta just shook his head again sadly, dropping his chin to his chest. "Your dad would find us. I bet that cabin would be the first place he'd look."

She hated when he was right. Frowning, she looked off into the distance as she contemplated his words. "Well...come into the woods with me, anyway. Tomorrow. You still haven't been." At his apprehensive look, she insisted, "Come on. You'll like it." She pinned him with a sly smile. "I dare you." She knew he hated when she taunted him, his cautiousness a stark contrast to her recklessness. He scowled at her.

"Fine."

And he did, though she couldn't do any hunting with him around. His tread was too heavy, even when she asked him to step lightly. He was just loud. But she showed him different animals and plants and tried to teach him how to climb trees; when that failed, they just chased each other through the woods, playing hide-and-seek.

She hadn't seen him look that happy in a long time.

* * *

Peeta was decidedly less happy about her burgeoning friendship with Gale. When she turned 15, the older boy started inviting her along on hunting trips; he wanted to trade her snare-setting tips for bow-hunting lessons. His father had been injured in a coal mining accident and was unable to make the weekly snare run anymore, so, at 17, Gale was left to his own devices. Katniss was excited for the opportunity to show off her skills; Peeta didn't much care for hunting.

"You spend so much time with him," he griped, trailing her to the outskirts of the woods in the meadow. She didn't know why he was following her; he wasn't invited.

"It's one day a week, Peeta," she snapped, glaring at him over her shoulder. She moved fast, and he picked up his pace to fall in step with her.

"Why Sundays, though? It's the one day I have off at the bakery, and now you spend all day with him in the woods."

"So change your Saturday shift to Sunday," she suggested dismissively. He glared at her and ran a hand through his curls.

"You know I can't do that. I get last pick after Rye and Barm," he grumbled. "It's like you're choosing him over me."

She nearly stumbled on the tall grass of the meadow at his words, and she glowered at him. "I have to hunt, Peeta. I'm just trying to learn more skills. Not all of us have a cushy job in town to fall back on," she spat, striding ahead to duck under her gap in the fence, but he grabbed her wrist to pull her back.

His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark. He was mad. "I hate when you do that. Hold my upbringing against me. I didn't choose it."

Katniss shook his hand off. "Well, then, stop acting like an asshole," she huffed. "I'm not choosing Gale. I'm choosing myself."

He looked wounded at that. She could tell she'd said the wrong thing, but she didn't know what he wanted her to say. His jaw tightened, and he glanced away before looking back at her. "You know he just wants to get into your pants, right?"

Her eyes widened incredulously. Gale had never once expressed an interest in her, despite how close their families were. He barely gave her the time of day before recently. "That's stupid. You're being stupid."

His neck was splotchy under his collar as he bristled at her reprimand. "No, you're being oblivious. Guys talk about you all the time at school, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "I know that. They think I'm a bitch." But he shook his head.

"No. Well, yes. But they talk about taking you to the slag heap, too."

She stared at him dumbly. She'd never heard a boy once say that about her, but maybe they knew she'd introduce them to her fist if they did. She didn't know what to make of his claim, so she shrugged it off. "Well, they won't."

Peeta didn't look convinced. In fact, his brow knotted with worry. "Someday, somebody will," he said. She wanted to be insulted at this, but his voice was so fraught with sadness, she was dumbfounded. "And Gale—a lot of girls like him. They think he's handsome and exciting. He's kissed a lot of girls at the slag heap, and it's only a matter of time before you fall for him, too, and then you're going to be kissing  _him_  at the slag heap—"

Impulsively, she pulled his face to hers, pressing their mouths together. She didn't know what possessed her to do it—she just needed him to know she'd never thought about anyone's lips but his. His mouth was slack against hers, and she tried to move her tongue the way she'd seen other teenagers do; Peeta finally came to his senses, cupping her face as he returned the kiss, equally as unpracticed. But she liked the way he tasted, the wet feel of his tongue in her mouth.

Finally, she pulled her head back; his nostrils flared as he breathed in heavily, and he licked his lips, staring at her. She found his eyes with her own. "I'm not kissing Gale the way I'm kissing you. Okay?" He nodded, and she stepped away, her gaze lingering on his mouth. "I have to go now." And he let her go, watching her slip through the fence into the woods.

* * *

They spent a lot of time kissing after that point, in the meadow, at the slag heap, behind the bakery, in her shared bedroom; it was easier to fool around at her house as her father was at the mines a lot, and Prim could easily be persuaded to go outside to play with friends. There was something thrilling about the secrecy of their new-found physical relationship. Rye had almost caught them at the bakery once, but she'd played it off like she was pulling a leaf out of Peeta's hair. She didn't know if Rye believe them, but he hadn't said anything.

Peeta invited her to a Merchant party in the Victor's Village one Saturday night. Only one house was occupied as there was only one living District 12 victor: Haymitch Abernathy. The Peacekeepers didn't police the area—why would they bother? So teenagers often met between a couple of the houses, out of sight, to drink and play games.

Even though she was Seam, the others had long ago stopped questioning her presence; some of the girls still shot her nasty glares, but she knew it had more to do with her closeness with Peeta than her Seam upbringing. The mayor's daughter, Madge, was the only nice one. Katniss normally just ignored them, sticking to Peeta's side. That night, as she sipped some of the white liquor one of the Merchant boys had poured her, she felt brave; she laced her fingers through Peeta's, squeezing tightly. He looked at her in surprise, a blush illuminating his cheeks, but then he grinned and pulled her hand into his lap.

She liked how light-headed the alcohol made her feel. Eventually, she and Peeta snuck off to make out behind another house, away from the others. When his hand groped her breast through her shirt, she didn't even question it, and when his thigh pressed between her own, firmly against her center, she whimpered into his mouth.

* * *

They tried to obtain their own alcohol after that night, but Ripper refused to sell any to her, even when Katniss offered four squirrels in return. "You're too young, girlie. The last thing I need is Cray putting me in the stocks for selling to an underage girl," she growled. Embarrassed and angry, Katniss stormed off.

"How do the other kids get liquor?" she wondered out loud later as Peeta trailed kisses down the curve of her neck.

"They get the older ones to buy it for them," he murmured, nipping at her collarbone. Closing her eyes, she sighed when he palmed her breast. She thought about Gale—would he get her alcohol? He had turned 18 recently and could now purchase contraband items.

No, she decided. They weren't that close. She hated asking for favors, and she couldn't very well tell him why she wanted the liquor; they didn't talk about Peeta, ever. Gale didn't like townies much.

"You know who always has liquor?" Peeta mused suddenly, lifting his head to look at her. There was a mischievous glimmer in his eye. "Haymitch."

She blinked, curling her hand over his so that he'd continue kneading her breast. "He would never share with a couple of kids," she dismissed, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth when he thumbed her nipple.

"Not willingly," he agreed, earning another curious look. He grinned and quirked an eyebrow. "He's passed out all the time in his house. I bet he doesn't even lock his doors or windows."

Katniss narrowed her eyes at him, comprehension dawning on her. "You can't be serious..." Peeta was never this bold, this stupid; he was sounding more like her.

His grin widened dangerously. "I dare you."

* * *

Haymitch's doors were locked, as it turned out, but they found an unlocked window in the living room. They decided Katniss would go in alone—well,  _she_  decided; Peeta was hesitant to agree, but she could move more swiftly and, most importantly, more quietly, than he could. So he stayed outside and hoisted her into the window. She dropped down to the floor noiselessly and nearly had a heart attack when she saw the old drunk asleep on his couch. He looked dead to the world, however, a knife gripped in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other. His loud snores filled the silence of the room, helping conceal the sound of her movements, and once she got her breathing and heart rate under control, she stalked silently into the kitchen, hoping to find his stash of alcohol there.

Empty bottles littered the floor, creating an obstacle course for her, but she managed to avoid the clutter rather seamlessly. She spotted bottles on top of the fridge, some half-full, others unopened, and she had to hop up on the counter to reach them. Carefully, she extracted a bottle that was three-fourths full and tried to artfully arrange the remaining ones so he wouldn't notice the missing bottle; the glass tinkled together faintly, but Haymitch continued to snore away.

Katniss quickly made her way back to the window, her heart racing now. She leaned out the window. "Psst," she hissed at Peeta. He jumped, kicking off the wall where he had been flattened. "I'm coming down."

Nodding, he moved underneath the window and held his arms up to help her. She twisted her body so her legs slipped through first; he grabbed her thighs and began to lower her. The bottle in her hand clanked against the windowsill, however, echoing loudly around the room. Haymitch snorted and flailed his arms, the knife slashing through the air as he sat up. She froze, her eyes going wide, and she heard Peeta's sharp intake of breath below her.

Haymitch blinked his eyes open and squinted at her. "What the  _fuck_ —"

Peeta came to his senses before she did, yanking her out of the window. When she dropped to the ground, they took off running for the meadow, him a few steps behind her. She thought she heard Haymitch yelling behind them, but the sound was distant; she was certain he wouldn't bother coming after them. He wouldn't be able to make it out his front door without tripping. She wasn't sure he had even realized what she had taken, either.

They collapsed in the meadow a few minutes later, concealed by the tall grass and the night sky. They panted, sucking in air to catch their breath, and after a moment, Katniss began to laugh. Peeta followed suit, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her against him, and he muffled his ragged chuckles in her neck. She finally squirmed away and sat up, presenting him the bottle of liquor. "Do you want to do the honors?" she asked, but he shook his head.

"You're the one who retrieved it. By all means," he gasped lightly, tipping the bottle back to her. She unscrewed the top and took a swig, wincing as it burned a path down her throat.

"That's awful," she croaked, passing it to him. He took a sip and coughed after he'd swallowed. They took turns passing it back and forth, until they were flushed and giggling.

"He sleeps with a knife, Peeta," she whispered—why, she wasn't sure. No one was around. "I thought he was going to throw it at me."

His face sobered at that. "I guess he never got over the games..."

She didn't want to think about that, about the games, about the reaping, about her sister's first year, about Peeta's chances, about her own. So she pried the bottle from his hand and set it on the ground, then she straddled his lap and kissed him sloppily, the sting of liquor on both their tongues.

She pushed him to the ground, her lips chasing his, and he flattened her against his chest possessively, letting their tongues twist together. There was that feeling again, that lightheadedness, that warmth coursing through her veins that made her impulsive and horny and more reckless than usual. She nipped at his lip. "Let's have sex," she murmured against his mouth. His eyebrows shot up, his mouth dropping open stupidly.

"I—really? Here?" he sputtered, and she nodded, slipping off him and flipping onto her back to make her point. He stared at her in disbelief as she began unbuttoning her shirt, wiggling her shoulders awkwardly on the ground to shrug out of it. Peeta finally stirred and rolled over, running a hand down the valley of her breasts and over her bare stomach. The grass felt itchy on her back, the cold dew drops causing her flesh to erupt in goose bumps, despite the flush of alcohol that ignited her skin. She wanted his warmth on top of her, so she helped him out of his shirt. His hands fumbled to unfasten her pants while she unclasped her bra, but he froze, his eyes drinking in the sight of her bare breasts when the material fell away. She had to grab his hand and place it on her breast to spur him on, and she moaned at the feel of his callused palm on her pebbled nipple.

"Wow," he breathed in amazement, flexing his fingers to mold her breast experimentally. She tried to pull him closer for a kiss, but he dipped his face to her breast instead, sucking the nipple into his mouth. She gasped and threaded her fingers through his curls to encourage his ministrations, not that he needed it; his lips and tongue and teeth worried the hardened bud eagerly. She ached for him, growing wetter with every pass of his tongue over her nipple.

"Peeta," she whined, and he listened, releasing her breast to help her shimmy out of her pants. They could only get them down to her ankles, where they caught on her boots, then he pushed her underwear down. He stopped to stare at her naked form, her chest heaving slightly with her desperate breaths. Then his hand slipped between her thighs; she grunted at the contact of his fingers trailing through her slick folds, and he inhaled shakily.

His fingers tugged and stroked, never quite connecting with the spot where she wanted him the most, so she covered his hand with her own and guided him to it, pressing his fingers down. She jolted at the touch, pleasure reverberating through her as she forced his fingers into a steady rhythm. Her eyes were closed, but she could hear his heavy breaths.

"Oh," he finally whispered. "You...do you do this?" he asked dumbly, and she bit down on her lip.

"Sometimes," she finally gasped, rocking her hips as the feeling intensified between her thighs. "When I'm alone."

He sucked in air through his nose at her words, then he nudged her hand away. "I think I've got it," he murmured, picking up the motion, stroking her more purposefully. Katniss' thighs fell open a little wider, and she fisted her hands in the blades of grass around her tightly, tighter still, until the building pleasure pulled taut and snapped, arching her back off the ground. She tried to swallow back her moan but failed, nearly knocking the liquor bottle over as she grasped blindly at Peeta, trying to find purchase to anchor herself back to reality.

"Shit, Katniss," he groaned, and when the tremors subsided, her trembling hands unbuttoned his pants and helped him push them and his underwear down to his knees. She marveled at the sight of his erection and managed to spread her legs wider as he moved to settle between them, despite the snare of her pants. Peeta inhaled tremulously and glanced up at her questioningly. If he wanted guidance, she didn't know how to give it to him. She just wrapped her arms around his back. Taking himself in hand, he pressed the head through her folds until he felt her body give way.

"There?" he gasped, and she nodded, closing her eyes as he started to push in farther. She bit down on her lip, hard, as he stretched her, pain lancing through her. Peeta groaned into her neck, a pitiful sound of pleasure, and she tried to soften her harsh, pained breaths. It hurt more than she was expecting, but maybe the alcohol helped numb it some. "Are you okay?" he finally asked, his voice cracking.

"Yeah," was all she could manage, her fingertips digging into his shoulders. He shifted his hips back and began moving, slow, jerky movements; neither of them knew what they were doing, but he aligned his face with hers, his nose bumping against hers every time their hips met. The pain only lessened mildly; he must have read it in her lidded eyes, in the tightness of her mouth.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, but his voice was strained; she could tell he was trying to hold back for her sake.

She tried to smile, but a jut of his hips in that moment made her wince. Still, despite the pain, she found the sensation of him filling her oddly satisfying. Like he was filling a hole deep inside of her she hadn't realized she had. She breathed shakily against his mouth, and he buried his face against her neck. His moans were soft and muffled, and then he spasmed on top of her, grunting into her shoulder. He gasped a second later and pulled away, lifting his hips to pull out of her. "Oh, shit," he groaned, and she looked at him in confusion.

"What?"

He turned his wide eyes on her. "Fuck, I meant to...I was going to stop, pull out, I mean, but I—it was, I mean, it felt—I couldn't stop. I didn't mean—I'm sorry," he rambled haltingly, and she finally understood when she saw the dribble of semen hanging from his softening penis.

She gasped and pushed him off. "Peeta," she hissed as she scrambled to sit up. He fell on his ass beside her. She could feel the mix of blood and semen seeping out of her as she shifted, and she was stunned motionless for a moment, her head spinning from the alcohol. Her stomach churned.

"I'm so sorry," he croaked again, his cheeks flushed but the rest of his face white in the moonlight. She shook her head frantically and hurriedly pulled her pants up. Peeta moved sluggishly beside her, tucking himself back in and pulling his shirt on while she put her bra and shirt back on.

"We can't do that again," she said emphatically, her voice shaking. She couldn't get pregnant. She couldn't have kids, not in this world. Not in a world that practically guaranteed their death. She still had her own life to worry about for another three reapings. She  _couldn't_  get pregnant.

"Okay," he whispered dejectedly. "I'm sorry, Katniss. I really am..."

Her whole body was shaking as she stood up, her stomach swooping dangerously. She took a few steps before she hunched over and puked up all the alcohol she had consumed. Peeta was at her side in a second, trying to pull her hair out of the way as he steadied her by her arm.

Once she'd spit the last of the vomit out of her mouth, she stood up straight. Her skin felt clammy in the cooling summer air. He was watching her, concern and fear etched into his face. "We can't do that again," she repeated, mostly to herself. "I'm not having kids."

He nodded. "I know," he murmured. "I really didn't mean to...you know that, right?"

She didn't say anything, swiping a hand across her sweaty forehead. She started to walk away, back to the Seam, an ache already settling between her thighs. Grabbing the nearly empty bottle, Peeta followed her cautiously, a few steps behind.

She wouldn't let him hug her when they separated ways at her house. When she walked through the door, her father was on her in an instant. "Where have you been?" he demanded, his face taut with worry and frustration, but it seemed to soften at the sight of her pale skin, her tired expression.

"I don't feel well," she begged off, and he didn't ask anything more as she disappeared into the bedroom, curling up in bed beside a sleeping Prim. Her little sister tried to snuggle up against her, but Katniss pushed her away, feeling stifled and smothered, like she was suffocating.

She wanted to be mad at Peeta, but she was mostly angry at herself. Hormones were stupid.  _She_  was stupid. She couldn't risk that again.

* * *

Despite her adamant declarations, however, she and Peeta did have sex again. Many times. She had tried to settle for just kisses, just his hand moving between her thighs, but her own attempts to get him off were clumsy at best, and, annoyed, she'd just pulled him between her legs and lifted her hips to his until he was sheathed inside her. Peeta at least managed to pull out every time after the first failed time.

She loved the way he felt inside her, how hard he thrust into her sometimes in the meadow or at the slag heap, the soft grunts he issued as he spilled himself on her stomach. She was glad school was out for the summer; Peeta was often busy at the bakery, but he found a way to sneak off with her almost every night for a quick fuck wherever they could find privacy. He always finished too fast, but he would get her off afterward, and by then he was ready to go again for a longer, less frantic second time.

He had her bent forward in the meadow then, the ground digging into the toughened skin of her knees and elbows; she still throbbed with pleasure, panting slightly, and his semen was cooling on her back. She'd often watched the animals mate in this fashion in the woods and had wanted to try it for herself. She realized she liked it a lot.

Peeta finally shifted her so they could lie down in the grass, their flushed, naked bodies pressed together. He was panting into her hair, her head tucked under his chin. "I love you," he said, loud enough that only she could hear, and she stiffened slightly. He'd never said that before. But she knew it.

Still, the words were thick on her tongue. "Me too, you know," she forced out, hoping he understood.

"Yeah. I do." He sounded happy. She was, too, she realized. She could even forget the reaping was tomorrow, just for the moment.

* * *

Katniss' mind reeled as she swayed precariously on the stage before the reaping crowd—everything was too bright, too sharp, but the sounds were muffled as the Peacekeepers led Peeta to the stage.

How did this happen? How did both of them—how did  _either_  of them get selected? She knew the number of slips with her name was less than others in the Seam, and his, even less. How? She thought she could hear Prim crying somewhere, but all she could focus on was Peeta's face as they shook hands. He looked petrified.

Black dots peppered her vision, and she nearly collapsed inside the Justice Building, but the Peacekeepers hauled her to her feet and pushed her into her room. She could barely concentrate as her handful of visitors filtered in and out of the room: Prim and her father, Gale, Madge, Mr. Mellark and Peeta's brothers. Something was wrong with her; she must have been in shock.

She didn't understand until she passed out while her prep team cleaned her up. She came to with Cinna and Effie whispering over top of her.

"Are you sure?" Effie hissed, and Cinna nodded solemnly.

"Positive. I tested her blood." They were quiet for a beat until Cinna added, "I haven't told the others. I'm not sure if I should."

Katniss struggled to sit up, the cold metal of the table seeping through her paper-thin gown. "What—"

Effie gasped and pushed her back down. "Don't sit up, dear. You need to take it easy in your condition."

Her mind was still groggy, so she didn't fight her escort. "What happened?" she tried again. "What's my condition?" Effie and Cinna shared a look, but before either could respond, the door slid open. Haymitch stomped inside, glaring at her.

"So is the girl knocked up?" he grunted, and Effie huffed.

"Yes, but mind your manners,  _please_ —"

He snorted. "Manners? She's housing a fetus inside her days before she goes into the games to get slaughtered, and you're worried about manners?"

Effie was speechless. Katniss stared uncomprehendingly at him. "Fetus..." The word felt strange in her mouth, and Haymitch pinned her with an exasperated look.

"Yeah, sweetheart. You're pregnant. Congratulations," he drawled sarcastically, jerking his flask out of his jacket to take a swig. "And I'm betting it's Blondie's, yeah? Won't he be so happy to hear the news? He'll not only lose his girl but his child as well. What an exciting games this will be." He shook his head in disgust. "Fucking kids."

He strode out after that, an uncomfortable silence settling over the remaining three. Katniss felt sick. A child. How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? How could she have been so careless? She thought she was going to throw up.

No, she was  _actually_  going to throw up. She rolled over and puked off the side of the table. Effie squeaked and jumped out of the way, but Cinna rubbed Katniss' back soothingly.

"How," she croaked, coughing on the vomit spittle stuck in her throat. "What am I supposed to do?"

No one had an answer for her.

* * *

She didn't want to tell Peeta, almost didn't at first—but he was so adept at reading her, there was no way she could hide it. He nearly destroyed his room in anger, tearing art off the wall and smashing vases. She'd never seen him so upset. She didn't stop him, though. It felt good to watch him destroy something, to see him finally react to all the injustices done to him, to both of them, over the years. She would have joined in if she hadn't felt so numb.

After his rage burned out, he curled around her on the bed, his head resting on her stomach. She could feel his tears dampening her shirt. "I'm sorry," he murmured, over and over—if the apology was meant for her or their baby, she didn't know.

She overheard Effie and Haymitch talking a few days later, after their private sessions with the gamemakers. "Shouldn't we just take care of it?" Effie whispered harshly, but Haymitch scoffed.

"What does it matter? If it dies now or a week from now in the games?" he shot back rhetorically.

Effie looked distraught. "But if she's— _with child_  in the arena, if she gets sick or tired, it could hurt her chances," she insisted vehemently. Haymitch started to shake his head but pulled up short, an odd expression contorting his face.

"Her chances," he repeated slowly, then he stood up, grabbed Effie's face and planted a wet kiss on her lips. "Effie, you're a fucking genius." He stormed away, leaving Effie dazed and perplexed.

* * *

Katniss' interview with Caesar was already a ghost in her memory even moments after she'd sat down. She could barely recall what they had discussed—lamb stew and her costumes and Peeta. Of  _course,_  Peeta. Somehow, they had become the Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12; Haymitch must have put the rumor out about their relationship. She was angry at him, at having to answer questions about Peeta, but when she heard the loud, sympathetic murmurings of the crowd, she understood his angle.

But she didn't mention her pregnancy. Not that she wanted to tell anyone, anyway—she couldn't bear for her family to find out this way—but Haymitch had advised against it.

The buzzing in her head finally faded, just enough that she could make out the rest of Peeta's interview with Caesar. He and Haymitch had been secretive about their private session together, and Peeta refused to tell her what they had discussed. In fact, he'd been acting uncharacteristically reserved and distant toward her all day. She was resentful toward him for that; she was the one whose body had been taken over by some alien lifeform—why did he get to act wounded?

A strained hush had fallen over the crowd as they hung to every word that dripped from Peeta's tongue. He had always been so eloquent.

"It really is tragic," Caesar sympathized, patting Peeta's hand; he just nodded. "To have a young love cut short like this. Our hearts go out to you."

"Thank you," Peeta said quietly, his tone troubled.

"But Katniss told us you've been together since you were 5. At least you had all these years together, right?" Peeta nodded again. "That's got to count for something."

But Peeta's jaw tightened at that, his face clouding over. "Maybe I'd think the same, Caesar," he said sourly, "if it weren't for the baby."


End file.
